Page 43 of Nicky

“He’s more than that,” I muttered, rubbing my jaw. “He’s… incredible. Strong, selfless, stubborn as hell. He’s been through so much, but he doesn’t let it show. He takes care of everyone but won’t let anyone take care of him. And he’s smart, too.”

Her silence was loaded, giving me the space to continue.

“I want to be there for him. Give him what he’s probably never had. Security. Affection. A place to feel safe.” I hesitated, my chest tightening. “But he’s scared of what I want. He thinks it’s too much, or maybe I’m too much.”

“What is it that you want?” Her question came softly, without judgment.

I stared at the window, the snow outside blanketing the world in white. “To be his Daddy.”

The words hung heavy in the air, my heart thundering as I waited for her response.

“That’s not weird, you know, in case you’re wondering if that’s on my mind,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact.

I blinked. “It’s not?”

“No. It’s… sweet, actually. You want to take care of someone in a way that’s meaningful to both of you. That’s not weird, Markus. That’s love.”

“It’s more complicated than that.” My throat felt dry. “He’s not ready. And I don’t know if he ever will be.”

“Do you love him?”

The question hit me like a freight train. I exhaled shakily. “I… don’t know. Maybe.”

She let out a soft laugh. “Markus Webber, unsure of something. That’s a first.”

“Leah!”

“All I’m saying is don’t give up on him just because he’s scared. If he’s as incredible as you say, if he’s worth the effort, go after him.”

I glanced at my watch, my stomach knotting. “I’ve got to go. The Christmas party’s about to start.”

“All right, big bro; we’ll talk.”

Her words stayed with me long after I ended the call.

String lights draped across the rec room, their golden hues reflecting off vintage glass ornaments. A towering pine tree stood at the center, its branches heavy with wooden toy soldiers, faded angels, and decades-old keepsakes. "Some of these ornaments have been around longer than me," Terri had said earlier with a grin. At the very top, a wobbly tinsel star clung to its perch, defying gravity and adding to the charm. Around me, laughter blended with the soft hum of carols, the room alive with the comfortable buzz of holiday cheer.

I adjusted my tie in the reflection of a nearby window, catching a glimpse of Nicholas across the room. He was hunched over a table, his focus on Beverly as she tried to tie a bow around a gift box with trembling hands. He leaned closer, murmuring something I couldn’t hear, and she swatted him with mockindignation. That soft, crooked smile of his—God, it was like a punch to the gut.

“Markus, grab those cookies!” Terri’s voice jolted me back into the moment. She pointed toward a tray perched precariously close to the edge of the table. “Unless you want Mr. Gaines to roll over them in his wheelchair.”

The older man waved from across the room, his booming laugh confirming he’d overheard. “Don’t mind her. I’ve got good brakes!”

I chuckled, sliding the tray safely toward the center of the table. “No casualties tonight, Mr. Gaines. We’re aiming for a Christmas miracle.”

The seniors had started gathering in a circle, guided by Terri’s patient shepherding. Beverly’s laughter floated above the rest, soft but unmistakable. She was wearing a sweater dotted with reindeer, her gray curls tucked under a Santa hat that kept slipping sideways. Nicholas escorted her to a seat, his hand hovering near her elbow in case she needed help.

Terri clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Alright, folks! Time to share your favorite Christmas memories. Let’s hear what made your holidays magical back in the day.”

Mrs. Thompson spoke first. She told a story about baking cookies in a blizzard, the power out but the warmth of her family filling their tiny home. Her words painted vivid pictures: snow drifting past frosted windows, the scent of nutmeg and cloves, the sound of her father’s off-key carols. The room hummed with her joy.

Beverly’s turn came next. She cleared her throat, her fingers curling around the edge of her chair. “I remember one Christmas when my Charlie—my husband, bless his soul—surprised me with a record player. It was secondhand, probably older than I was, but it worked like a charm. We danced right there in the living room, the kids watching and laughing. I don’t thinkI’ve danced like that since.” Her gaze turned distant, her voice softening. “I wish I could feel that young again.”

Nicholas leaned forward, his expression tender as he whispered something. Beverly patted his hand, her voice louder now. “Don’t waste time, Nicky. Life’s too short not to dance when you’ve got the chance.”

A ripple of agreement moved through the room, but her words dug deeper into me than they should have. I busied myself rearranging the cookie trays, stealing glances at Nicholas. He caught me once, his eyes holding mine for a beat longer than necessary. My stomach twisted.

Terri nudged me. “You should say something, Doc. These folks love hearing your stories.”

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